


Diamonds in the Rough

by fannyatrollop



Series: Practically Imperfect [1]
Category: RuPaul's Drag Race RPF
Genre: Because... they are children, Child Labour, Gen, Late 1910s England, Loosely based on Mary Poppins and the classic works of Frances Hodgson Burnett, Magical nannies saving young lives, Ships are Puppy Love
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-01
Updated: 2019-02-12
Packaged: 2019-10-02 00:50:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,977
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17254535
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fannyatrollop/pseuds/fannyatrollop
Summary: In a world that deprives them of love, five little princesses find solace both in one another, and the unexpected presence of two very peculiar nannies.





	1. The Banker’s Daughters

**Author's Note:**

> It all started when Nya went to see Mary Poppins Returns. And now, here we are. This will be a saga for the ages, lemme tell you. The ships are more reflective of future plans... our girls are ten years old at most, but when they’re older sparks may fly in earnest.
> 
> Ah, who are we kidding, they will fly. But first, the girls need to learn some valuable lessons under the care of their magic nannies.

Granny Liaison-Mattel was always very nice to the girls, really. She always came bearing sweets and pretty words for her little twin granddaughters.

“What pretty ribbons you have on today, Beatrice!” she’d say, giving the little girl’s chubby cheeks a squeeze and earning a grimace. “And Pearl! My, but you never stop growing, do you?”

It was the same every time she visited. Pearl only ever received a pat on the top of her head, and was always the first to lean in and give Granny her kiss when she requested it. Trixie always had to stop rubbing her face to kiss Granny. Old as she was, Granny’s eyes had remained sharp enough to chide Trixie about what an unattractive quality it is to rub one’s face as much as she does.

The trouble with Granny, though she was nice, was that her hands were always clammy and cold. Trixie would go even farther to claim that Pearl never understanding what a problem this was only added to her own suffering.

“Why is it that she only grabs  _ my _ face and not  _ yours _ ?” she moaned, once Granny was out of earshot. 

She was soothing herself with the chocolate Granny had slipped into her hand before sending the girls back to their nursery, so she could talk with their father. Trixie, of course, had no qualms about taking her sweets, even though they came from those cold hands she was complaining about just then. Children can be that way.

“Because your face is fat, and mine is not,” said Pearl, primly.  _ Her _ greatest trouble at the moment was the fact that there was nothing to do in the nursery, and yet they had been banished there indefinitely. They’d spent so much time in that dull little room, filled with toys they had played with long enough to have grown quite bored with them, and the injustice of this grieved Pearl like nothing else.

Trixie frowned, puffing up her cheeks so that she resembled a squirrel with two little acorns stuffed in each of them. She stomped over to the side of her bed, and knelt down as if to pray, her little brows furrowed in concentration.

Pearl stared at her for a moment, since all she had to do was watch her sister be ridiculous to be entertained. Making Trixie act ridiculous was one of the few amusements that never quite lost its shine for her.

“What are you doing?” she asked, since Trixie was not being very animated in her ridiculousness.

“I am talking to Santa Claus,” she said. “I am telling him that if it isn’t too late, I should like to have a new sister for Christmas instead of the doll I asked for.”

As Trixie carried on “praying,” looking rather pleased with herself as she did so, Pearl strode over to her own bed, crouching down onto her knees and staring at Trixie with contempt.

“Well  _ I  _ shall ask Santa Claus for a new best friend that I can spend  _ all _ my time with and make you so incredibly jealous.”

She smirked in satisfaction as Trixie shuffled in discomfort, clearly not happy with the idea of being replaced despite threatening Pearl with the very same thing no more than a minute ago. Having finished her message to Santa Claus, Trixie hopped onto her bed, the soft mattress covered by the frilly pink sheets Trixie was so fond of. 

“I’m never going to be jealous of you, Pearly, because I’ll have my new sister to play with instead - and she’ll be so much nicer than you.” Her tone of voice suggested she was trying to not sound put out, but her folded arms and her pouty lips did nothing to hide her displeasure.

Deciding she wasn’t finished with tormenting her sister, Pearl carried on with her message to Santa Claus. “And I should like a puppy too, for us to play with. Oh, and a kitten of course. And a new dollhouse so we can have something to do when it rains!”

“Now you’re just being silly. Santa couldn’t possibly deliver  _ all _ those presents!” Trixie protested, her round face reddening from frustration. “And not to someone as nasty as you - all you’ll be getting for Christmas is coal!”

Pearl gasped, the insinuation that she’d be receiving less than what she’d asked for thoroughly disturbing her. 

“That’s awful of you to say! I’m telling…” Pearl trailed off, her rage dampening the moment the thought entered her head. “... Mother.”

Trixie fell silent, sucking on her lip and staring blankly at her bedsheets. She took one of the frills in her hands to fiddle with it, and when the tears started to slide down her rounded cheeks, Pearl was at her side in an instant. Guilt about bringing up their late mother sat like a rock in her belly, and the grief she thought she’d long since put to bed brought tears to her own dark blue eyes.

Mrs. Liaison-Mattel had been a wonderful woman - surely she was the kindest woman in all of London, in all of  _ England _ ! But apparently she was too good for the world, as she disappeared on a trip to heaven at the start of the new year. At least, that’s what Granny had told them. Trixie had believed it at first, eagerly anticipating the return of her mother, wanting to know what heaven was like and whether there really were angels up there. Pearl knew better than that - she wasn’t thick, she could tell when Granny was telling lies. Her mother was gone, and she was never coming back.

Trixie learned eventually, and she’d cried bitterly for weeks. But even as the twins sobbed their little hearts out, their father was never there to comfort them. He grew distant from them, isolating himself for days, and the only thing either sister ever heard from him was quiet sobbing drifting from his study. Odd - Pearl didn’t think it was possible for men to cry.

Although months had gone by, the ache in their hearts was still fresh, and not a day went by when Trixie and Pearl didn’t think of their lovely, sweet Mama up in heaven with all those angels. 

“I’m sorry, Trixie,” Pearl murmured as she pulled her sister into a hug, the girl’s chubby form soft in her arms. “I… I forgot she wasn’t here anymore…”

“I don’t want another sister,” Trixie sobbed. “I was only teasing, I’m sorry Pearly, I’m sorry. And I miss her so much, I don’t want you to go away too...”

The girls sat in each others arms and cried, knowing that they could only rely on each other for comfort because there was no sense in seeking it from their father.

***

“Really, Michael, you should find a nanny for those girls,” Granny said. She’d set herself up on her son’s favourite chair, and requested a cup of tea (no sugar, but some cream) to help her get through the task of lecturing him. “How long has it been since the old one… left?”

Michael sighed. A man his age never likes to be nagged by his mother, but as a son he had no choice but to bear it. 

“Miss Jenkins left us in late July,” he said, “left” being a softer word for “suddenly and tragically died”. It would have been more considerate of her to refrain from doing that, when the girls had lost their mother so recently, but when the reaper calls one has no choice but to answer. What a mad year it had been for his family!

There hadn’t been a day since his wife died where he didn’t feel her absence. When their mother was alive, he used to pay regular visits to the nursery, and the sound of his daughters’ dear little voices calling out for their Papa was the sweetest of all. Now, as lovely as it was to hear them putter around their room, the very sight of them reminded him of their mother. It was far too much to bear. 

“And it’s been five months since, yet still no replacement in sight.” Granny took a slow sip of her tea before shaking her head and tutting. “The girls need a woman in their lives, Michael. It’s a wonder I haven’t stepped in myself…”

“You’re welcome to do so,” Michael grumbled, softly under his breath.

Granny took a moment to consider before shaking her head once more. “No, no, I couldn’t - I’m not as young as I once was, and the children require a nanny just as spry as the children themselves.”

“You don’t happen to have a spry young nanny up your sleeve, do you, Mama?” Michael wasn’t fond of all this talk of nannies and childcare - it was too painful a reminder that he hadn’t been the father his girls needed. He’d promised dear Isabelle he would do well by them, and he hadn’t kept to it, not in the least. 

Granny’s motherly intuition told her that it was a difficult subject for her son, so she resolved to be patient. That did not mean she would let up - as a parent, one must understand that it is one’s job to endure difficulty if that is what the children need. It simply would not do for her granddaughters to be deprived of a nanny, when there is no reason a banker could not provide one for his daughters. Pearl and Beatrice must have everything all the other girls of their station should have.

“Michael, we’re not searching for precious stones in the yard,” she said. “A nanny is not something one has to mine from deep within the Earth. I’m certain that if you exerted yourself but a little, you would find one quickly enough.”

Shuffling uncomfortably where he stood, Michael admitted something he was rather ashamed of. “I must say, Mama, I wouldn’t know where to start. I happened upon Miss Jenkins quite by chance - I’ve no idea where to look for nannies.”

“Goodness gracious…” Granny tutted. Sometimes she wondered how her son had made it as far in life as he had. “Well, there’s a newspaper on the coffee table, you’d do well to have a look through the advertisements.”

Michael removed himself from the wall he was leaning against and took the paper from where it lay, the sheets crisp in his hand. Exchanging a skeptical glance with his mother, he flipped his way through to the back pages where the advertisements awaited him. He considered himself quite lucky that night, for the largest, most decorative advertisement promised exactly what he was looking for.

_ Miss BenDeLaCreme - The Creme de la Creme of Childcare _

_ Families in need of care for their children must look no further than Miss BenDeLaCreme, an expert in her field. Available every day of the year, provides both education and companionship for children of all ages, will care for no more than fifteen children at a time. Expects no wage, but a roof over one’s head is always pleasant. _

Details of how to contact Miss BenDeLaCreme followed, and Michael had to admit that she sounded rather perfect. There was certainly room for her to stay with them - the Liaison-Mattel house had more bedrooms than anybody knew what to do with - so providing her with a roof over her head would be no trouble at all. Expecting no wages struck him as rather odd, however, as he distinctly remembered Miss Jenkins asking for quite the princely sum. 

“Well? Any luck?” Granny ventured after draining the tea from her cup and setting it gently on the saucer. 

“Yes, actually,” Michael crossed the room and handed the paper to his mother, pointing the advertisement out to her. “Miss BenDeLaCreme sounds quite promising.”

Granny raised her eyebrows as she lifted her glasses to her eyes. 

“I certainly hope she doesn’t expect the children to call her that - it’s awfully difficult to pronounce.” Michael was glad to see a twinkle of approval shining in his mother’s eye as she read over the page. “Well, she does have the qualifications - and I do enjoy a lady with a sense of humour.”

Glad that his choice of nanny hadn’t been a complete misfire, Michael spoke with a firm nod. “I shall contact her in the morning. It’s getting rather late - you should be off to bed, Mama.”

“Oh stop fussing. I’ll go to bed when I decide to go to bed. No sooner, no later.” 

Nevertheless, she stiffly rose from her seat, with Michael’s help, and started out of the room. As she made it to the doorway, she turned to face her son. “I’m going to bid the girls goodnight. Will you join me?”

As she expected, Michael shook his head.

“No, Mama. Not tonight.”

***

“So, we’re branching into newspaper advertising now, are we?”

“We mustn’t be afraid of trying new things. Besides, the newspaper is where many families in need of a nanny turn to. It’s a perfectly  _ logical _ decision, but of course, you like to operate with as little sense as possible to guide you.”

“Not all people have access to the newspaper, I do hope you realise. And I’ll have you know, Miss Dela, that my instincts are accurate every time - one doesn’t need  _ logic _ to find those in need, one simply needs to look carefully.”

“Well, Miss Tammie, I’ll have you know that my goal is to find myself some spoiled children, the more spoiled the better. Families with spoiled children would have access to a newspaper. You should have seen the impact I had with that sad little girl out in the moor! One would hardly recognize her.”

“I believe that those poor, sweet things without pennies to their names are in far greater need of help then spoiled little children who want for nothing. I can’t tell you how many urchins and workhouse children I’ve found in dire need of love and care while you were off frolicking in the moor!” 

“I’ve explained my reasons many times, and yet you refuse to understand. It is not only those who have nothing who are impoverished. A child may have a roof over her head, and plenty of warm clothes and good things to eat, but if she is left too much alone she will never turn out right. Suffice to say that there is value in my work, just as there is in yours. I do not wish to spoil my tea arguing with you again, it is not too much to ask to have a quiet evening for once! Don’t you have work to do, anyhow?”

“I think you’ve known me long enough to know that Tammie Brown does not participate in ‘quiet evenings’. And as a matter of fact, I do have work to do - taking care of children who  _ actually  _ need it. I’ve heard tell of a little Russian princess who has fallen on misfortune, and I do believe she’ll require my services.”

“So you’re not above serving royalty after all? I would have - forget it, this is ridiculous. I wish you all the success in the world. Now, I shall concern myself with my own little princesses. From what I’ve seen, there is plenty of work to be done!”


	2. Princesses Yekaterina Petrovna Zamolodchikova

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to those of you who’ve read so far! We love any and all validation.

Trixie wasn’t sure if she ought to be excited when Granny told them that Papa had hired a new nanny to look after her and Pearl. Of course, it would be nice to finally have somebody to care and look after them, but she was rather upset Papa still felt the need to hire someone rather than do it himself. It had been so long since he’d sat down and played with her and Pearl, and even though she still saw him every day, Trixie missed him as if he’d gone to heaven with Mama.

“I hope she’s nice,” Pearl said as they sat on the stairs waiting for this new nanny to arrive. “Miss Jenkins was awful.”

Trixie’s mouth dropped open like a fish. “Don’t say that about her! We mustn’t… disrespect her, like that.”

Pearl wasn’t wrong, exactly. Miss Jenkins had been strict and mean and she never let the girls have any fun. But Trixie never liked to speak ill of the dead - it wasn’t proper.

The girls spotted Papa stepping into the entrance room, his eyes trained on his watch. The new nanny was due to arrive at any moment, and it seemed the whole household was anxious to meet her. It was a question of whether the mysterious Miss BenDeLaCreme would be suitable for the children - she seemed perfectly delightful in her advertisement, but one must not believe everything they read.

The short, prim knock at the door conjured butterflies in Trixie’s stomach, and she and Pearl exchanged excited glances before rising to meet their new nanny. Papa went to open the door - funny, Trixie thought their butler, Mr Hudson, would’ve done that. She supposed Papa wanted to meet this new nanny for himself as soon as possible, considering he was handing his only daughters into her care. 

“Ah, Mr. Liaison-Mattel, is it?” came a sugary sweet voice from outside, and Trixie could already tell she was smiling just from hearing her. “I’m Miss BenDeLaCreme - I believe you requested my assistance?”

There was a slight stutter in Papa’s words. “Ah, yes, welcome, Miss BenDeLaCreme. Please, come inside.”

“Oh, do just call me Dela - it is far easier for everyone, I think, myself included!” Miss Dela laughed as she stepped inside, a pleasant sound like a bell. Trixie’s eyes lit up at the sight of her - she had never seen a nanny look so colourful, with bright flowers decorating the brim of her hat and a beautiful, vibrant blue dress perfectly tailored to her form. Curls of dark hair escaped from her hat, and her face lit up with a radiant smile as she laid eyes on the girls. “Now, you must be the children I’m to care for. Might I have your names?”

Pearl was the first to speak up, Trixie’s shyer nature getting the better of her. “My name’s Pearl. Your dress is very pretty.”

“Why thank you!” Miss Dela raised a hand to her chest, clearly pleased with the praise. “And you, sweetheart? What shall I call you?”

“That’s Trixie,” Pearl said for her, a nasty habit she’d picked up over the course of their life together. Trixie was shy and sometimes very much not in the mood to speak for herself, but she was old enough to do so if given the opportunity.

“Yes, Nanny, I’m Trixie,” sad Trixie, scowling a little. “I am capable of speech too.”

Miss Dela gave a succinct nod. “I’m glad to hear it. Now, Mr. Liaison-Mattel, is there anything in particular I need to know about the girls?”

Papa shook his head. “Nothing I didn’t mention in my letter to you, Miss Dela.”

“Wonderful! Now, girls, shall we-”

An almighty crash from outside rudely interrupted Miss Dela and made Trixie jump in fright. Pearl was quick to stifle her yelp of surprise, raising her little hands to her mouth and flushing. It was rather satisfying - Pearl would be the first to tell you that she wasn’t scared of anything, so seeing her startled  pleased Trixie a fair bit.

“Heavens, what was that?” Papa asked, more irritated than frightened by the commotion. He started towards the door to investigate, but Miss Dela held out a hand to stop him.

“I wouldn’t worry yourself - allow me.” Miss Dela turned on her heel and stepped out of the house, and despite Papa’s protests, Pearl and Trixie were quick to follow. They found Miss Dela glaring at a bush, her hands planted on her hips and her lips pursed into a thin line. Trixie peered around to see what she was looking at, and was rather surprised to see another woman splayed out in the foliage, her legs sticking out in an unladylike fashion. Beside her, Pearl giggled.

The woman grinned up at Miss Dela before blowing a bright red curl out of her face. “Well hello, Dela! Fancy seeing you here!”

“Miss Brown, you do astound me,” Miss Dela tutted. Trixie was struck dumb to know that a prim, proper lady like Miss Dela could possibly be familiar with this strange, dishevelled woman in the bushes. “Whatever are you doing here?”

“My job, I should think.” Miss Brown started untangling herself from the branches of the bush, adjusting her battered old hat as she did so. A single, wilted flower drooped from the brim. 

Miss Dela narrowed her eyes. “I could have sworn you had told me your princess was Russian.”

“Oh, she is!” Miss Brown reassured her, straightening out her shabby brown coat. “But not all Russians live in Russia, you know.”

“A Russian princess!” 

Trixie’s natural shyness was no match for the excitement of hearing about royalty, especially if they were from such an exotic place. Pearl fancied herself too grown up to shout as she had, but she was looking at Miss Brown with more interest than before.

Miss Dela shook her head. “Trixie, come along, you’ve no need to listen to this woman’s silly stories.”

“Oh, Miss Brown, I should like it very much if you could tell us more about the princess!” Trixie squealed. She quickly rattled off her many questions: What does she look like? Is she very rich? Is she coming to see their King? Will she have a pet bear that dances at her command? Will she come wearing the finest furs?

“Of  _ course _ she will come wearing fur!” cried Pearl. “Russians love to wear fur! And she’s a princess, so it must be very fine indeed.”

“Since when are you such an expert on Russians, Pearl? We’ve never seen one before.”

Pearl was in the midst of formulating a response when the new nanny saw that it was necessary to rein her charges back in.

“ _ Girls _ !”

In that moment Trixie and Pearl learned that when Miss Dela decided to put her foot down, she could appear quite stern indeed. 

“Miss Dela, you musn’t punish these poor girls for their natural curiosity!” Miss Brown said, with a laugh. “Can’t I at least tell them one thing before I go? I shan’t linger where I’m not wanted.”

“Please Miss Nanny!” Trixie cried. “Please let her tell us something about the princess?”

“Who is this lady anyhow?” Pearl asked, shocked that she was the first to think of doing so. “You seem to know her, Miss Dela.”

Miss Dela sighed. “To answer your question, Pearl, this lady is my ridiculous sister, Miss Tammie Brown,” she said.

Miss Tammie Brown gave the girls a deep bow. “That I am indeed,” she said, merriment shining in her face. “Though I should say Miss Dela is the ridiculous one in my eyes. There’s so much she simply refuses to understand.”

Trixie’s mouth hung open at the cavalier way in which Miss Tammie defied their new authority figure.

“Then is Miss Dela’s name also Brown?” asked Pearl, proud of herself for being such a logical creature.

Miss Dela shook her head. “No, and we have already discussed what I should be called, have we not?”

“How is it that you are sisters and don’t have the same name?”

“Pearl, darling, not all sisters are like you and Trixie,” Miss Dela said, patiently. “Sometimes one knows in one’s heart when one is with a sister, and silly things like names don’t matter as much.”

“I don’t care about names!” shouted Trixie, too impatient to learn any important life lessons. “Miss Tammie, tell us about the princess!”

“I suppose she can,” said Miss Dela. “But we might have to have a talk about manners, Trixie.”

Pearl giggled, while Trixie looked at her feet, shamed from being scolded however light.

Miss Tammie laughed, bright and loud. “Well, I mustn't keep the little missus waiting!” she said. “I can say just one thing, then?”

“Yes, Tammie, and do get on with it.”

“Goodness, Dela, you must be awfully eager to get rid of me!”

“They really do sound like sisters now,” whispered Pearl, so that only Trixie could hear. Trixie silently agreed, practically vibrating with impatience while Miss Tammie teased Miss Dela much like they teased each other when the mood struck.

“Alright, children, let me tell you what you wish to know,” Miss Tammie said, in that laughing way of hers. She hardly ceased to find everything around her diverting, it seemed, and both little girls thought that shouldn’t be a terrible way to go about life. Both pairs of eyes were trained right on her, eagerly anticipating her words.

Miss Tammie cleared her throat.

“The princess,” she said, leaning in to speak conspiratorially. “Is coming to live next door.”

***

The princess was, just then, entirely unaware that she was the object of such interest. She wasn’t certain where she was going at all. 

Earlier that day, her Aunt Tonya had dressed her in a simple, black dress, brushed her hair neatly, and bundled everything she owned up so that she could set it on her lap as they rode to some unknown place, where she was to live from then on. She didn’t know why she couldn’t continue to live with her aunt, but her dear Father had told her she must always listen to Aunt Tonya, and Aunt Tonya said that she must live apart from her.

Technically, Yekaterina Petrovna was no princess at all, not in the way two little English girls might envision. She was born into nobility, yes, but she was no king’s daughter. Yet she grew up in a big house, inside a sprawling estate that may as well have been her family’s little kingdom, the way her father had explained it. In their house, he was as good as a king, and she was his little princess. Her mother was long dead, and as her Aunt Tonya had no husband or children of her own, she lived with them in their little palace, as she had all her life. Katya could run and play wherever she pleased, until she couldn’t, and anything her father  _ thought _ she might like, he would produce for her until that too became difficult.

As their fortunes changed, Katya felt it keenly though she did not understand the particulars of their situation. She knew nothing of war or revolution, and no one had wanted to explain these things to her. Her father loved her so well that he never wanted her to worry about a single thing, and he had sent her away in the company of her aunt because he had reached a point where he felt that delaying their departure could endanger them. All he had told her was that he feared their home was no longer safe, and that if she was good to her aunt, he would be very proud of her when he joined them. She had kissed him and promised to behave, as he left her to be packed up and taken along to England, with one of the two passages he had been able to procure. She worried that when he came looking for them, he might be troubled to find that she had been separated from her aunt, and so she bit her lip as they rode along the grey streets of London, hoping that he would understand that she had only done as she was told.

Looking at her now, one would not even take her for nobility. Inside her bundle, Katya had one change of clothes and a ragged plush toy. This was all that she owned in the world, aside from a precious watch on a chain that her father had given to her as a parting gift. The watch was to be left with Aunt Tonya, who promised it would be safer in her care. Katya had always been a good, trusting kind of girl, so she had relinquished her most prized possession because she believed that her aunt had her best interests at heart, and would take better care of it than a careless little girl like her ever could. She would miss pressing it to her ear, where the ticking of the clock helped her fall asleep at night when the confusion that her life had become threatened to keep her awake.

***

For her part, Tonya did feel, deep down inside, that she may be doing the wrong thing. However, she understood life in ways her little niece did not, and she had told herself that what she was doing was in no way breaking the promise she had made to her poor brother. He had told her to look after the girl, and as he had not sent them away with nearly enough to care for the both of them in their new life together, there was no harm in finding a place for her to be cared for while Tonya could focus on keeping herself alive. Everything had happened so fast, that she had only been instructed to hide precious things in her clothes and in their luggage, to help them hold out until he could resume his duties as head of the house. So, Tonya had been left quite alone for the first time in her life, with nothing but a meagre living that could never take her through a year in naught but the most reduced circumstances, and a girl she was to be in charge of. The priceless relics of her family’s history had only gotten them so far, and if things kept on as they had, they may very well have starved slowly while her brother failed to appear.

A woman like herself, who had experienced the first hardships of her life just these past couple of years, could not be expected to find ways to improve things for herself and the child. As she saw it, all she could be expected to do was to survive until her fortunes improved. And in order for that to happen, her brother’s precious Princess Yekaterina might as well be sold into domestic service, where she stood a better chance of awaiting his return than she would by her side. She would be of no use to anyone otherwise.

Tonya hoped that Mrs. Minj would not mind the lost look her niece had about her. She tended to let her eye wander every which way, as if she needed to take a full inventory of her surroundings at all times. Tonya hoped that she would not change her mind about taking her on because of it, because in truth, Katya was quite sharp. Her adoring father had every right to go around telling everyone what a clever girl his daughter was, though appearances often suggested that her head was quite lost in the clouds. 

As they stood on Mrs. Minj’s stoop, Katya could make out a strange rustling in the nearby shrubs. She saw two little heads crowded at the front window of the house next door, with a taller figure standing behind them. She took note of the dull, grey sky, and how uniform the houses on the street looked. The sound of Mrs. Minj opening the door to greet them gave her something new to behold.

Mrs. Minj was a tall, thin woman, with mousy brown hair and a perpetual look of distaste. She had been crafted by nature to become a strict governess, or a nun in charge of terrorizing schoolgirls at a convent school, or perhaps an ill-tempered librarian, but fortune had given her marriage and a family instead. After a curt greeting, she regarded Katya, looking down her nose at the girl she was to take into her home. Katya struggled to meet her eye.

“This is the child, then?” she said, addressing Tonya without looking at her.

“Yes, she is,” Tonya said. She bit her lip. 

Mrs. Minj turned her attention to Katya.

“Child,” she said. “Tell me your name.”

Katya had been trained to recognize this question, though her understanding of the English language was not quite where it ought to be. She stared dumbly at Mrs. Minj for a moment, though, because it had not been phrased the way she was used to. Aunt Tonya had spent hours asking her  _ What is your name? _ and talking her through the correct response. 

Tonya could see something like disdain blooming on Mrs. Minj’s face the longer Katya stayed silent.

“Don’t worry,” she said, in her own halting speech. “She is quick. She improve soon.”

She then nudged Katya, with a sharp translation of what the woman had asked her. God, she hoped she would be allowed to leave this exchange alone. 

Now that she knew what to say, Katya embarked on her rehearsed speech.

“My name is Yekaterina Petrovna Zamo—”

“Katherine,” Mrs. Minj said. “What a sensible name.”

In the end, the exchange went off without a fuss. Mrs. Minj gave Tonya her payment, and took Katya by the wrist to pull her inside. Tonya called after her to be good, and turned around to leave her as soon as she could. Katya was then unceremoniously dumped into the care of the house cook. It was only later that night, when she was finally left alone to process the events of the day, that she began to feel scared.

***

In the house next door, two little girls huddled under one of their covers, so they could whisper about what they had seen after the lights went out.

“That was no princess!” Pearl whispered, almost loudly enough to constitute regular speech, but with a hissing quality to it. “She looked so shabby, and there was no fur in sight.”

“Why would Mrs. Minj call her Katherine? Her name is Yekaterina Petrovna Zamo, I heard it clear as day!” Trixie pouted as she thought of it. The girl looked like she had so  _ little _ … 

Pearl rolled her eyes, and though Trixie could not see it, she could discern that it had happened from the way she spoke.

“Oh, Trixie, what does it matter what she’s called?”

Trixie kept her mouth closed until the urge to shout subsided.

“I just think it’s so rude to take away a person’s name… Don’t you, Pearl?”

“We should just go to sleep before Miss Dela scolds us. What a  _ bore _ today turned out to be,” said Pearl, sighing.

“You’re bored _every_ _day_ , Pearl.”

  
  



	3. Girls Less Fortunate

Katya’s first day at the Minj household had been peculiar in the worst possible sense of the word, and she found herself despising every moment more than the last. Her fears and misery were born of a variety of things - she missed her family and her home dreadfully, she felt practically naked without her little watch hanging around her neck, and she could barely understand a word her superiors were saying. They were far from pleasant people, from the ruddy faced cook to the strict and snappish butler, Katya felt quite out of place amongst them all. Certainly, it seemed she wasn’t wanted at all, from the way she was treated.

The worst of them was Mrs. Minj herself. Never before had Katya met a woman with such a sour disposition, her thin lips pursed into a near constant frown, her slight wrinkles carving a history of frowns and scowls into her face. Every word that fell from those pinched lips was curt and unpleasant, snapping at Katya when she couldn’t understand her complicated English phrases. What was perhaps the most dehumasing aspect of Katya’s treatment was that Mrs. Minj seemed determined to refer to her as “Katherine,” something Katya was desperate to correct if only she knew how.

She dreaded being alone at night, yet that was where she found herself. The tiny room held very little - a rickety bed, a tiny set of drawers for Katya to place her things, a cracked mirror, and a washbasin. Only the natural shine of the moon illuminated the place, for there were no lamps to light nor curtains to pull. It was strange to think that this was the same moon she’d slept under in Russia - it had seemed so pretty then. Now, shrouded in dark clouds, it was almost frightening.

“ _ Калинка _ _ , калинка, калинка моя. В саду ягода малинка, малинка моя.”  _ Katya’s only respite came from the folk song she sung to herself, trying her best to emulate her father’s own delivery of the tune to lull herself to sleep. But curled up in her thin bedding, her voice choked with tears, it was the most mournful sound a girl could make. “ _ Ах, под сосною, под зеленою, Спать положите вы меня… _ ”

Just then, it became apparent that something wanted her attention from outside.

Katya stopped her singing, startled by the sound at her window. Turning in her bed to face the glass, she gasped at the shadowy figure looking in on her, a glowing halo of moonlight around their head. Fear paralysing her, Katya simply lay there in a hopes that this stranger would leave her in what little peace she had.

Then, in a voice lacking tune but full of care, the figure finished Katya’s lullaby.  “ _ Ай-люли, люли, ай-люли, люли, Спать положите вы меня _ .”

Was this a common occurrence in England? Unsure whether to be comforted or unsettled by the woman’s presence - her voice sounded like that of the fairer sex - Katya shuffled a little in her bed, sitting up and peering suspiciously at the stranger.

“If you don’t mind my saying so, little Miss Zamolodchikova, you have a lovely singing voice even when you’re tearful.” She spoke in perfect Russian, her English accent moulding strangely around the language.

Warily, Katya gave her reply. “Who are you?”

“Tammie will do,” the woman replied, still in Katya’s native tongue. “I’ve come to help - you might have seen me rustling about in the shrubbery earlier.” 

“I… I do remember,” Katya said. She’d almost forgotten how the bushes in the next door garden had seemingly moved of their own accord, but she had found it rather strange. A little more comfortable with Tammie’s presence, Katya hopped out of bed and padded towards the window, her bare feet cold against the floorboards. “What were you doing in the bushes, Miss Tammie?”

“None of that ‘Miss Tammie’ silliness, please, it’s much too formal for my taste,” Tammie replied, a warm laugh colouring her speech. “What was I doing in the bushes? Why, waiting for you of course!”

“Me?” Katya repeated, thoroughly baffled.

“Yes! Consider me your fairy godmother,” Tammie said, the drooping flower on her hat bobbing as she nodded. “Now, I think it’d be much more pleasant for us to have this discussion indoors, don’t you think?”

Katya’s eyes grew to the size of saucers when suddenly, Tammie quite literally vanished in a puff of smoke. In the quiet aftermath, Katya wondered if she’d made it all up, and if Tammie had ever been there at all. But then in that very same puff of smoke, Tammie miraculously appeared sitting on top of Katya’s bed, coughing and spluttering as the haze cleared.

“I dare say, this won’t do at all…” Tammie muttered, and Katya watched with interest as the woman reached into her pocket and started digging around. From the way her arm vanished further and further into its depths, Katya realised that this was no ordinary pocket - it seemed to go on for miles. With a cry of satisfaction, Tammie produced a little bauble, no bigger than the palm of her hand, and with a few taps of her finger a warm, orange glow bloomed within and doused the room in light.

“It’s like magic…” Katya whispered under her breath.

A bright grin lit up Tammie’s face, and she lightly threw the bauble into the air only for it to hang suspended, floating above the both of them. “That’s the ticket!”

“So you really are my fairy godmother?” It was all a little strange to her - to be torn away from her home and abandoned in an unfamiliar English house, only to be visited by a magical fairy dressed as a raggedy woman. If she were unlucky, she’d awake to find that she’d been dreaming, and that the kind Tammie had only been a figment of her desperate imagination. But she seemed so real, so lifelike. Katya had never had this vivid a dream before.

“That’s me! Fairy godmother and magical nanny at your service,” Tammie announced, hopping up onto her feet. “You might have seen my prissy sister Dela in the house next door. She’s got magic in her pocket like me too, you know.”

Katya cocked her head. “Is she my fairy godmother too?”

“No, silly, you can’t have two fairy godmothers! I should be quite jealous if that were the case!” Tammie glanced around the room, frowning as she did so. “This is no place to keep a child…”

“I don’t like it very much,” Katya said, her head drooping, blonde hair falling about her face. “I don’t like England at all, actually.”

“Hmmm…” Tammie brought her hand to her chin, staring at Katya with narrowed eyes. “Aha! You aren’t very tired, are you?”

Whether she was tired or not was irrelevant - Katya knew she wouldn’t be able to sleep from the thoughts that plagued her unstimulated mind. “No.”

“Well, how about we go on a little adventure, then? I’ve plenty more children to see to tonight, and it’d be a perfect way for you to see more of London. Surely you don’t want to stay cooped up in this shabby old room any longer than you have to?”

Of course, Katya had reservations. If Mrs. Minj were to discover that she’d run off, there would be no end to the punishments she’d inflict. And if both she and Tammie were speaking Russian, how in the world were the little English children supposed to understand them? But then, she thought, perhaps this was a dream after all. Perhaps if she were to decline Tammie’s offer, she’d wake up and lose the feeling of comfort she gained from this fairy nanny’s presence. 

“I… I think I would like that,” Katya replied - she had nothing to lose, after all.

Glad at Katya’s reply, Tammie took the bauble with one hand and extended the other for the Katya to take. “Wonderful! Now, hold on tight.”

Katya took Tammie’s hand, nervous excitement bubbling within her at the prospect of an adventure with her fairy godmother. She could only hope that the part of London Tammie was about to show her would be better than the unpleasant portion she had already witnessed.

***

Maxine Malanaphy had always been shy. In her early girlhood, she spent her days clutching her father’s trousers and hiding behind her curtain of much praised honey gold hair. There was little issue to be had with her more reserved nature - the ladies that came to visit the Malanaphy home would coo over how sweet she was, and how they wished their own rowdy daughters could be as well behaved as darling little Maxine.

Her papa was the only parent she’d ever known. Mrs. Malanaphy had passed while bringing Maxine into the world, so she’d never had the pleasure of knowing her. Papa would tell her the most wonderful stories of her, about her intelligence, her wit, her smile that could dazzle even the sourest of dispositions. Though Maxine bore quite the striking resemblance to her late mother, Papa never saw that as a reason to shun her. She was a little piece of his beloved wife, and he’d be a fool to let her go. 

They were a splendid pair, Maxine and her papa. Their reserved natures complemented each other beautifully, and they’d spend countless hours together in the study, reading or playing the piano or simply chatting about the silliest of things. There was nobody Maxine loved more than her papa, and so she never saw the reason to mill about with the other girls her age. They couldn’t entertain her with enlivened conversation, and besides, Maxine was skinny and gangly and much too tall for her age - what business would those rosy cheeked, chubby little girls have with her?

Childhood was not always easy for her, however. The Malanaphy’s had never been the most robust of people, their weak chests and fragile forms making them incredibly susceptible to illness. Maxine was no different, inheriting a sickly nature from her father and suffering for it every winter. Yet she was never alone in her suffering - Papa would look after her, and so would the servants, ensuring that Miss Maxine would be up and about in no time at all. 

At the age of eight, Maxine was sent away to the same boarding school her mother had attended; Papa had decided she needed the kind of good, proper education that had benefited her mother so. She didn’t like it at first. Being so far away from her papa for so long was something she’d never had to experience before, and it took her some weeks to adjust. Socialising with the other girls was difficult too, because as friendly as they were, Maxine just didn’t have the confidence to speak to them. 

Her salvation came in the form of letters from her papa, and every single one was kept and cherished for her to read and reread until the paper was worn beyond recognition. He told her everything - how things were going at the house, entertaining tidbits from the parties he hosted and attended, interesting facts or quotes from the books he’d been reading. He asked after her, of course, and she replied with honesty that she was doing quite well indeed. 

The discovery that he was not doing as well rocked Maxine to her very core.

Papa never said anything about investing in diamond mines in his letters. He never said anything about what a mistake that had been. He never said how it had driven him to bankruptcy. Most importantly, he never told her that the shock and grief had taken a toll on him and his poor health. The headmistress told her that - but by that time, Papa had already been buried, and every penny in the Malanaphy coffers had been lost to them.

Maxine was an orphan and a pauper. There was no place for orphans and paupers at her school.

With nothing to her name, Maxine was turned out onto the street, becoming a common urchin when only yesterday she’d been a rich daughter of society. It was enough to send anyone into shock, let alone such a fragile little girl as Maxine. She mourned her father’s death bitterly, the shock and confusion and it all rendering her hollow. Without food and shelter, Maxine was certain she’d be doomed to wander the cold streets of London alone until she simply curled up and died, joining her parents in heaven once and for all. She developed her cough then, a nasty, painful thing that plagued her every hour of every day, sapping her of what little energy she had left.

To make it all the more awful, her prized honey blonde hair, which had been so beloved by all who saw it, started to streak with grey. Maxine didn’t understand it - only old ladies had grey hair, not young girls like her. It was just another thing to cry about, losing the only thing she had left to enjoy about life. By the time her entire head had faded to silver, Maxine had given up - starved, scared, sick, and all while mourning her dear departed father. She found herself in Covent Garden, and she settled herself into a nearby alley to cough herself into a sleep from which she doubted she’d wake.

When Maxine next awoke, she was astounded at the warmth that surrounded her. Perhaps this was heaven, and she could finally reunite with her parents. That dream shattered when her new guardian, Mrs. Bathurst, made herself known, explaining how she’d found Maxine on the brink of death and brought her home to nurse her back to health. She soon discovered she wasn’t the only child to receive Mrs. Bathurst’s generosity, as she had a whole fleet of urchins under her wing who owed her their lives.

However, if you were to live under Mrs. Bathurst’s roof, you had to earn your keep. A basket full of flowers was shoved into her hands, and she was told to approach everyone she saw and pester them until her basket was empty. Maxine had never had the talent for pestering, so she was rather an ineffective flower girl. However, she still managed to make enough for Mrs. Bathurst to keep her around, even if she was more of a burden than anything. 

Sickly little Maxine, who was too tall and too grey and too pale and too refined, suspected she was not cut out to survive her new life despite the kindness shown to her. The other children called her a toff and kicked over her flower basket, making fun of her near constant coughing and quiet demeanour. Maxine trained herself not to cry in front of them.

***

“I heard that Tammie was in London!” said Lydia, one of Maxine’s fellow flower girls. She was bolshy and brash and just about the only person Maxine could call a friend, although that was perhaps stretching the definition. “I hope she brings them nice candies she has with ‘er.”

A particularly nasty paper boy named Roger spoke up next. “Oi, Maxine! Tammie’s never going to give  _ you _ any candy. She only likes children, and  _ you’re _ a granny.”

The gaggle of children laughed at that, Maxine simply ducking her head in response. She had heard them talk of this mysterious Tammie beforehand. Apparently she was a funny woman with a shabby coat and a glowing bauble that floated. Maxine didn’t believe them - baubles didn’t float. 

As the other children made their way back to Mrs. Bathurst’s crowded little flat, Maxine hung behind. She often stayed out on the street longer than she probably should, considering her health, but she found it far more preferable to enduring more time with the little wretches who bullied her. It was as she started looking through the flowers in her too-full basket that she heard the commotion, turning on her booted heel to see whatever it could be.

Maxine’s jaw dropped when she laid eyes on the glowing bauble, floating in the air as it miraculously appeared out of nowhere. It came accompanied by the figure of a woman, her hand twisted tightly around the hand of a little girl, her blonde hair apparent even in the smoky night. Surely this had to be the mythical Tammie, the woman Maxine had written off as a fairy story her fellow urchins told themselves to give them hope. 

Tammie spoke to her little companion in a language Maxine didn’t understand, but could recognise as Russian from her studies back home. Maxine was considering dashing behind a nearby fruit cart to hide when Tammie turned her head and laid eyes on her, and a bright smile lit up her face.

“Hello, there! You look a little lost!” she called, prompting her younger companion to look at Maxine as well. “Might we be of some assistance?”

Maxine didn’t speak, but Tammie still strode over to her, pulling her friend along with her. The little blonde peered at her closely, like she was some specimen to be studied. Maxine tucked a lock of silvery hair behind her ear as the bauble drifted towards her, bathing her face in a warm glow. She coughed a little as Tammie crouched down to her level.

“Goodness, that sounds like a nasty cough you’ve got there,” she said, her voice gentle and friendly. “I might have something to help with that.”

She bit her lip as she watched Tammie reach into the inside pocket of her coat, keeping a close eye on her hand as she pulled a small fabric pouch from it. Pulling it open, Tammie extended it to Maxine, and the little girl peered inside to see a collection of multi-coloured candies of all shapes and sizes.

Maxine wasn’t sure what they could do for her cough. “I… I don’t know what those are…” she mumbled, voice hoarse from underuse.

“They’re perfectly safe, watch.” Tammie reached into her bag and took a candy from it, cheerfully popping it into her mouth. “Just like that! They’re very good for cold nights like this one - please, do take one.”

Although she hesitated, Maxine dipped her hand into the pouch and quickly placed the sweet in her mouth - and the flavour was overwhelming. She hadn’t tasted anything so wonderful since before she’d been shipped off to boarding school, and she let out an involuntary hum of pleasure as she let the sweet roll around her tongue.

Tammie smiled again as she offered the bag to her blonde companion. “There we are, that wasn’t so bad! Now, what shall I call you, little one?”

“Maxine,” she replied, trying her best to speak around the lollie.

The little blonde tugged on Tammie’s sleeve. “мне нравятся ее волосы.”

“What did she say?” Maxine asked, hoping this would shed some light on why the blonde was looking at her so curiously.

“Katya here rather likes your hair,” Tammie answered, and Maxine gasped a little in surprise.

To think that anyone could possibly like her strange silver hair… Not even Maxine liked her hair, not anymore. Perhaps Katya would change her mind if she knew how beautiful it had once been. 

Maxine shook her head as the candy fully dissolved in her mouth. “I don’t think she should. It’s terrible and ugly and freakish.”

“Now now, Miss Maxine, we’ll have none of that,” Tammie chided her. Her tone was stern but not without affection, and it seemed Maxine’s words had genuinely upset her. “Having hair that colour at your age is a rare and precious thing! Think of how fortunate you must be to have all that silver in your hair - not everybody can be so lucky.”

Maxine sniffled, a mixture of misery and sickness. “But it used to be so full of gold…”

“почему она плачет?” Katya asked, her brows furrowing with concern. Tammie gave a quick reply in Russian before turning her attention to Maxine, who could feel a warm tear streaking down her grubby face.

“May I tell you a secret? I’ve always thought silver was much prettier than gold. Girls with golden hair are far too common - you, dear little Maxine, are a rarity. Now, I don’t know about you, but I should feel rather proud to be a rarity.”

Raising a hand to her soft grey curls, Maxine considered Tammie’s words. She had never thought of her hair in that way, being rare and precious like a gemstone, instead of something that made her stand out as a freak. Somehow, it ignited a strange sort of happiness in her, a feeling she thought had long since abandoned her. She owed it all to Tammie, and she offered her a sheepish smile in thanks. She even thought she could feel herself warming up, as if winter had receded back into summer.

“Um, thank you, Miss Tammie. It’s very kind of you to say so.”

Tammie matched her smile and reached out to squeeze her cheek, although Maxine could’ve sworn she saw her frown for a moment as her hand connected with her face. “Well, it’s very important for us to find ways to love ourselves as much as we love others.”

Those words stuck with Maxine long after Tammie left. As she lay in the shabby, crowded bed she shared with her fellow urchins, she found she couldn’t sleep for thoughts of Tammie and how the simple encounter with her had sparked a slight flicker of joy within her. It wasn’t simply Tammie that had cheered her, but Katya too. For as the enigmatic pair prepared to leave after visiting all the other children, Katya had managed to say something rather kind to her in her broken, stilted English.

“You fancy, like me. We can soon be friends, yes?”

A friend… Maxine certainly wouldn’t mind having one of those.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those of you who are curious, the song Katya and Tammie were singing is a Russian folk song called Kalinka. When she and Tammie were talking to Max, what she said translates to: "I like her hair" and "Why is she crying?" Although I did use google translate, so you'll have to bear with on the accuracy.
> 
> Thank you all for reading!!


	4. An Expedition To The Cellar

The Liaison-Mattel family had been on fairly good terms with the Minj family for some time now, their status as neighbours practically forcing them into socialising. Trixie and Pearl were good friends with Ginger, a girl close to them in age who was the youngest member of the family. She was a robust little thing - a strong, solid form, filled with forceful beliefs and opinions. Pearl had always attributed Ginger’s nature to her flaming red hair, a feature she had always found rather becoming, but one her elders seemed to shun.

Adults were funny in that way, she supposed.

Quite often, she and Trixie would pay a visit to Ginger during the day - be it for tea or for play - and they felt it the perfect opportunity to introduce their dear friend to their delightful Miss Dela.

“They have been expecting us for some time, Miss Dela,” Trixie said as she trotted alongside Miss Dela, tugging on her indigo skirts. “We’d be so happy if you came along - I’m certain Mrs. Minj would be delighted to meet you.”

Miss Dela hummed at the thought, and both Trixie and Pearl took her silence as a sign she needed more convincing. This time, Pearl stepped up to speak.

“And you might get to see Miss Tammie. We’ve heard you muttering about how irresponsible she is, so perhaps you could check up on her?” Pearl suggested. “Make sure she isn’t causing any trouble.”

“Well, if I am to be your caretaker it would be strange for me  _ not  _ to accompany you wherever you go,” Miss Dela remarked, and this was her rather wordy way of saying ‘yes’. “When are the Minjs’ expecting you?”

“Half past eleven,” Trixie replied, her answer quick so she could talk over her sister. Pearl shot her a small glare, which Trixie received with pride.

Miss Dela pulled her pocket watch from her waistcoat, and her eyebrows raised when she looked at it. “Good heavens, that’s in fifteen minutes! At this stage, my dears, you’re not fit to be seen by a scullery maid, let alone Mrs. Minj! Come along to the nursery, we must get you looking decent.”

“A scullery maid!” Trixie gasped. The last time she’d seen Yekaterina Petrovna Zamo was when the girl was on her way home from market. Trixie had been at her window, practically sticking half her body out so she could see her, until Miss Dela pulled her away. Pearl had laughed at her for that.

Pearl rolled her eyes, sighing at the stupidity she was so closely related to. “Don’t tell me you’re looking forward to calling on the Minjs’  _ maid !” _

“I’ll tell you what I like!” replied Trixie, with a huff.

Pearl stuck her tongue out at her. Miss Dela sighed. 

“Come  _ along _ , girls!”

***

For Christmas, Trixie and Pearl had each been given a sixpence. It was a simple little tradition they had in their household, the real coin hidden amongst others made of sweet chocolate in a small velvet pouch, wrapped up in ribbon. Pearl and Trixie would spend their whole morning searching for their gift. In her mind, Pearl found hers the sensible way, by squeezing on the coins until she found one that didn’t melt under her fingers. Trixie found hers the only way she knew how - by eating all the rest.

Now, that coin was tucked safely into the pocket of her little coat, kept warm by Trixie’s constant fiddling with it. Miss Dela had scolded her for shoving her hands in her pockets as Mrs. Minj lead them through to the parlor where they were to take tea with young Ginger. The adults were talking of awfully dull things as they walked, and for once Trixie found her boredom matched by Pearl’s. 

“Ginger, sit up straight, there’s a good girl,” Mrs. Minj snapped at her daughter the moment they entered the parlor, and the slight frown creasing Miss Dela’s face did not go unnoticed by her young charge.

“I’m sorry, Mama,” Ginger replied from where she was seated at the table, thoroughly chastened. “Hello Trixie, hello Pearl.”

The twins gave their greeting before being guided towards their seats surrounding a table decorated with plates of little sweet cakes and a tea set. It was all very lovely, and Trixie eyed the cakes with eager hunger. Pearl, ever the prissy one, simply sat up straight and waited until she was given permission to eat. Mrs. Minj turned her attentions to Miss Dela, peering at her through little half moon spectacles.

“Now, Miss Dela, is it?”

“Yes, that is correct,” the woman said with a short nod.

“Shall we take our tea in the other room? I can’t say I was expecting your company, but I’m sure we can accomodate you.”

Miss Dela glanced down to the girls at the table, seemingly reluctant to leave them unsupervised. Although she was growing rather fond of her delightful yet strict nanny, Trixie did feel a touch suffocated under her constant watchful gaze. “Please, Miss Dela, go and enjoy your tea with Mrs. Minj. We’ll be quite happy here, won’t we?”

Ginger and Pearl’s nods in unison had the nanny convinced, and she turned to Mrs. Minj. “Very well, it seems the girls have spoken. Lead the way?”

The older women said their goodbyes to the girls, and after Mrs. Minj gave a strict warning that Ginger behave herself, the two quit the room, leaving the girls in relative peace. Ginger breathed out a sigh of relief, her posture loosening and relaxing.

“Gosh, I thought they would never leave,” she huffed, making Pearl frown and Trixie giggle.

“Aren’t you supposed to be behaving?” Pearl asked, reaching out to start pouring tea into their little china cups. Trixie had already started piling her plate with cakes.

Ginger nodded. “Well, yes, but you’d never tattle on me, would you, Pearl?”

“Only because I wouldn’t want to be a snitch. Milk or lemon?” She sounded so snooty as she served the girls their tea, sounding more like Miss Dela than anyone else. Trixie found it rather funny - Pearl did so often try to imitate those above her in an attempt to sound more impressive. Trixie never believed it, because she knew that Pearl was as silly a girl as Trixie was herself.

Trixie swallowed down a bite of victoria sponge before speaking. “Ginger, have you seen much of that new scullery maid of yours?”

“Good grief, here we go again,” Pearl grumbled before drowning her disapproval with a sip of tea.

Taking a moment to think, Ginger stirred her tea and let the spoon clink against the china. “A little bit - she comes in to light my fireplace in the morning. Why do you ask?”

“I saw her when she arrived the other day,” Trixie explained. “And I thought it was so sad when your mother called her by the wrong name. I should quite like to meet her.”

“Katherine? But that is her name, isn’t it?” Ginger asked, cocking her head.

Trixie shook her head enthusiastically. “No, no, no. It’s Yekaterina Petrovna Zamo. I heard her say so myself.”

“Yes, so did I,” Pearl said. “And then I heard it a thousand more times from you, Trixie.”

Irritated by her sister’s lack of compassion, Trixie poked her tongue out before continuing. “I want to see her so I can call her by her real name! She always looks so sad when I see her - I thought, perhaps, it might cheer her up.”

“I suppose it might, if Mama has been getting her name wrong,” Ginger considered, bringing a chubby hand to her chin in thought. “Perhaps we should try and find her.”

“Oh, I’d be so happy if we could!” Trixie cried, clasping her hands together and brightening her face with a cheery smile. 

Pearl widened her bright blue eyes, looking thoroughly scandalised. “We most certainly are not! Do you two really want to get involved with a  _ scullery maid _ _?_ Why, it’s just bad taste.”

“Being a nice person isn’t ‘bad taste,’ Pearl,” Trixie snarked back, folding her arms across her chest. “Where might we find her, Ginger?”

“In the servants quarters, I imagine. I’ve never seen her around the house at this time of day.”

Trixie bounced up in her seat, forgetting her meal entirely. “Well, come along then, let’s go find her!”

Ginger, who seemed more than happy to join in on the adventure, hopped out of her seat with a grin. Pearl, however, remained seated with a sullen, pouty look on her face. “You can’t make me go with you. I’m not spending my time with dirty little scullery maids, and that’s that.”

“Suit yourself. But you’ll be so disappointed when I’m the one with a new friend and you’re not,” Trixie remarked, feeling rather proud of herself. She was going to have an adventure, and Pearl wasn’t! How wonderful was that? “Let’s go, Ginger! I want to meet Yekaterina Petrovna Zamo!”

Giddily, the girls fled from the room, leaving Pearl to sulk all on her own. Oh well, if those two got in trouble it wouldn’t be her fault, and she could impress Miss Dela by saying how well behaved she’d been. 

Content to sip her tea in silence, Pearl eagerly awaited the sound of Trixie and Ginger being scolded.

*** 

“Have you been in this business long, Miss Dela?”

Dela regarded Mrs. Minj with gentle distaste. She’d taken an instant dislike to her after seeing how she treated her daughter - really, little Miss Ginger’s posture wasn’t that bad at all, there was no reason to snap at her the way Mrs. Minj had. And she seemed all too eager to leave the children alone, which Dela could understand if Mrs. Minj had been more pleasant about it. For the most part, Dela stayed silent throughout their tea together, speaking only when spoken to and listening intently to what Mrs. Minj had to say about her daughter.

Apparently, Ginger was far too spirited for her own good. She spoke back, she had no sense of decorum, and wouldn’t know good taste if it yelled in her face. It was all the fault of her hair, apparently, her flaming red locks singled out as the only reason why she was so ill behaved. The way Mrs. Minj spoke of her daughter’s most distinctive feature was as though it disgusted her, and it made Dela wonder why in heaven’s name she’d chosen to name her daughter after the shade. She wasn’t necessarily impressed with Mrs. Minj’s attitude at all - one should not shun their loved ones because of a physical feature, and Dela knew that better than anybody. Tammie’s hair was just as red as Ginger’s, if not more so, and although it definitely contributed to her more outlandish personality, it was all part of her charm.

“Oh yes, quite a while,” Dela said in response to the question posed to her, lifting her cup to her lips and taking a small sip. “Children can make the most fascinating companions.”

“I wouldn’t be able to stomach it. I find them wholly irritating,” Mrs. Minj said with a shake of her head.

A touch offended, Dela took a deep breath before speaking. “In my opinion, us adults must pay children more respect. We expect them to respect us, but how can they learn to do so when we give them none in return?”

“Fascinating, although I can’t bring myself to agree with you. Children learn respect through fear and discipline.”

“I would never wish to inflict fear on any of my charges.”

Mrs. Minj set her cup down on its saucer, her lined face contorting with poorly hidden distaste. “Forgive me, Miss Dela, but it sounds as though you have had a rather privileged childhood. Would I be correct in saying so?”

“Not entirely,” Dela said, a mysterious smile crossing her smooth face. “I simply care very deeply for the children I look after, and I know how to walk the line between damage and discipline. You, perhaps, should learn to do the same.”

It wasn’t like Dela to be so standoffish, but somehow she couldn’t help it - Mrs. Minj’s attitude didn’t sit well with her at all. Quite frankly, she worried for young Ginger, being forced to live under the same roof as this bitter woman. 

Mrs. Minj’s eyes narrowed as she stared Dela down, the crows feet around her eyes sticking out sharply as she did so. “Perhaps, but I’ve done well enough raising Ginger in my own way. I suggest you keep out of it.”

Dela smiled sweetly before sipping her tea. “Of course. My apologies.”

***  

Somehow, Trixie had the feeling that this wasn’t the first time Ginger had crept into the servants quarters when nobody was looking. 

“They’re all out to market at this time of day,” Ginger explained as she lead Trixie through the mostly abandoned servants hall. It was empty save for the red faced cook, who was slumped over the rough wooden dining table and snoring like a foghorn. Trixie had to stifle a giggle at the sound of her when they’d first come in.

“But if they’re all out at the market, won’t Yekaterina Petrovna Zamo be there too?”

Ginger faltered, her mischievous smile falling. “Oh, I, um, I didn’t think of that.”

“You silly thing! What are we going to do now? We can’t go back to Pearl - she’ll laugh at us because we couldn’t find her!”

“We can still find her, don’t worry, umm…” Ginger hummed, glancing around the room for some source of inspiration. “Let’s find her room. We can wait for her in there.”

Trixie stumbled a little as Ginger took hold of her wrist and started dragging her towards a wooden door that was slightly ajar. “But what if someone comes in? Won’t we get caught?”

“What business would anyone have poking their noses into a scullery maid’s bedroom?” Ginger asked, her tone reasonable yet slightly condescending. Suitably chastened, Trixie followed along in silence.

Yekaterina Petrovna Zamo’s room was awfully small - Trixie was sure her own wardrobe had more space than this. It was strange for her, to think of someone living in such an unpleasant place, with no space and an uncomfortable bed. In all her fantasies about the little Russian princess, how she lived never factored into the equation. Trixie may be young, but she was smart enough to know that something wasn’t right about her future friend living in such a cramped little room.

“Gosh, it’s awful, isn’t it?” Ginger remarked, peering through the dirty window. “I could never dream of sleeping in here.”

Trixie hummed in agreement, fiddling with the thin blanket on the rickety bed. “It must be terribly cold…”

“I think you might be right, you know. She’s always shivering when she comes in to light my fireplace in the morning.”

The sudden sound of commotion from outside distracted them from any more discussion of the maid’s plight, their young attention spans rather limited. Ginger opened the door a crack and beckoned Trixie over to look as well. All of the servants were back from the market, and the whole room was filled with their colloquial chatter and rowdy behaviour. Trixie found it rather fascinating - she never mingled with her household staff much - but any interest she had in them quickly faded when she spotted a flash of blonde hair amongst the crowd.

“Ginger, look! There she is!” Trixie whispered, pointing through the crack in the door.

Ginger narrowed her eyes as she glanced around, but they lit up the moment she found Yekaterina Petrovna Zamo. “Goodness, look how much she’s carrying!”

The young Russian’s arms were filled with all manner of goods, from sacks of flour to bags of vegetables. Trixie was sure she’d never seen even an adult carry so much, let alone a girl as young and skinny as Yekaterina Petrovna Zamo. Yet the strangest thing about it was not the quantity and weight of what she was carrying, but the fact that she didn’t seem to struggle with it at all. It was almost as if her strength was superhuman, and Trixie would be the first to say how thoroughly impressed she was.

The cook, now awake, barked at the poor thing to put her goods in the right place, threatening her with a beating if she didn’t do so quickly. Trixie frowned up at Ginger. “What an awful woman!”

“She’s always like that, even to Mama,” Ginger explained, and Trixie wrinkled her nose in distaste. “I don- wait, Trixie, look! Here she comes!”

Sure enough, Yekaterina Petrovna Zamo was coming closer, having suitably disposed of her goods from the market. Trixie and Ginger scurried behind the door so they’d be out of sight when the scullery maid opened her door - the last thing they wanted was to get into trouble for their snooping. The door creaked as it opened, and Trixie waited with baited breath to finally speak to the girl she’d been so obsessed with.

Yekaterina Petrovna Zamo let out a tired sigh before turning around, and she let out a cry when she saw the two newcomers. “Благость!”

“Oh, no, don’t be scared!” Trixie reassured her as the young blonde raised a hand to her quickly rising chest. “I only wanted to talk to you - I’ve been looking forward to meeting you since the moment I saw you arrive. Your name’s Yekaterina Petrovna Zamo, isn’t it?”

“Yekaterina…” she murmured, and then the brightest smile lit up her dirty face. “Katya! You call me Katya.”

“Is that your name?” Ginger asked, cocking her head. “Not Katherine?”

“No, not Katherine. Katya. Is small for Yekaterina.”

Ginger didn’t need to introduce herself - they must have met before. Trixie assumed Katya and Ginger had some degree of familiarity between them, seeing as they’d been living under the same roof for a while. With that in mind, she dove right in to making herself known to the curious little princess maid.

“Well, I’m Trixie. It’s…  _ small _ for Beatrice,” Trixie explained, holding her hand out for Katya to shake it. She saw Papa doing it all the time when he met people - why shouldn’t she?

Katya was hesitant to take it. “No. Not proper.”

“It’s proper if I say it’s proper,” Trixie replied, and she took Katya’s hand and shook it whether she liked it or not. Katya smiled again, and Trixie was impressed with how shiny and white her teeth were. “You have a very pretty smile.”

“Thank you.” Katya raised a hand to her mouth and lightly touched it. “You, um, you have nice hair. Yellow. Pretty.”

As Trixie beamed under the praise, Ginger stepped forward, fed up with being left out of the conversation. “Kath- uh, Katya, do you like living in this room?”

She hung her head. “Not allowed to say.”

“It’s alright, I won’t tell Mama,” said Ginger, in a gentle tone Trixie often forgot she was capable of speaking in.

Katya looked sheepish as she answered. “No, I do not like. Too dirty and small. I used to have big house, like you.”

“Why are you a scullery maid then?” Trixie asked, cocking her head.

“I… I do not know. Aunt say I be taken care of here.”

Ginger posed another question, not seeming to notice that Katya was getting overwhelmed by them. “Is your aunt the woman who brought you here?”

“Yes. She took my watch. I wish I had it now.”

Trixie frowned, her heart going out to the poor girl. Abandoned in a foreign country, her precious possessions taken from her, forced to work under cruel mistresses and cooks. It was much too horrible to imagine, and Trixie hated to think how it would break Katya’s spirit terribly. Her hand drifted into her pocket to fiddle with her coin as she thought of how she could remedy Katya’s situation, and it was then that an idea came to her.

Granny always said she could buy  _ anything _ with her Christmas sixpence...

“Your watch, was it very special to you?” Trixie asked, and Katya gave a sad nod.

“Very. It was precious, made of gold. Father gave me.”

Trixie took her little sixpence between her fingers and pulled it from her pocket, then held it out towards Katya. “I want you to have this. It’s a coin, and you could spend it if you liked. You might be able to buy a new watch to replace your old one, or something else that’s nice.”

Most of Trixie’s words seemed to go over Katya’s head, but she could recognise a gift when it was given to her. She was reluctant to take it at first, but when Trixie encouraged her to pluck it from her grasp, Katya did so eagerly. For a moment she simply stared at it, admiring the engraving on both sides and the slight glint of the metal. She then hastily stuffed it in the pocket of her apron, and she flashed another one of her dazzling smiles.

“Thank you, is very kind.”

“It’s quite alright,” Trixie said, her blonde curls bouncing as she nodded. “I should quite like to be friends - may I visit you again sometime?”

“I don’t know how often I’ll be able to sneak you down here, Trixie,” Ginger whispered, tugging at the pink sleeve of her dress.

But her comments went ignored by the two blondes, who were so enamoured with their newfound friendship that nothing else in the world could ever be more important. Not even the kerfuffle brewing upstairs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for reading! Let us know what you thought in a comment or by leaving a kudos <3

**Author's Note:**

> Come yell at us on tumblr: @sayakamagika and @grey-darling.
> 
> You can also feel free to shout at us right here! We’re listening!


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